Stranger at the Gates
by clicketykeys
Summary: A fanfic for the iOS fitness app/ARG Zombies, Run! Follows Mission 1. Woohoo! Now in the new Zombies, Run! category :D
1. Mayday

**Mayday**

The pilot's name was Jill. _Was_ being the operative word there. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

We were flying from Mullins to some dinky civ settlement called Abel Township. I was to meet my contact there for debriefing, and I wasn't too keen on the assignment. The name of the place was bad enough – who with any sense of history names anything or anyone 'Abel', honestly? – and then there was the matter of going in with minimal information. Still, I had learned some time ago that these days, information was precious, and it was best to neither ask for it nor offer it unless absolutely necessary.

Jill, it seemed, had missed out on that particular lesson. Apparently she'd been listening in as I was getting ready to board the helo. I gave her a rather tight smile and she picked up on things quickly enough.

She made contact with someone at Abel – by the sound of things, some kid who'd been president of his school's tech club before the outbreak – and got us permission to land. Didn't sound like Jill knew the kid at Abel, but she'd clearly been making supply runs for the base for some time. Apparently this one was a little different, and not just because I was there.

There was an unsteady hiss, and something whizzed past the windshield, leaving a cloudy trail in its wake. Definitely not a good sign. Worse was the second hiss – the one that hit us.

Jill's inquisitiveness had been mildly annoying, but she kept her head, giving our information out over the radio rapidly and clearly. I had the random thought that before the outbreak she would've made a great auctioneer.

I slammed forward – don't know if we were hit again or if it was because of where we'd been hit previously. Pain shot through my arm, radiating from my elbow, and I knew it was either broken or badly sprained. I pushed myself out of my seat, biting my lip against the pain. We were descending more sharply now and would probably need to bail. But when I looked over at Jill, I saw that she was slumped over the controls. I tried to pull her up with my good arm, but only succeeded in getting her to tumble out of her seat. From that angle, I could see the gash on her forehead, and I swore under my breath.

The kid from Abel was coming through on the radio, but I was more concerned with getting out than with giving more details. Getting my arms through the straps of the parachute was excruciating, and I could feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I secured the clasps and headed back to jump.

There was a messenger bag hanging by the door. I hesitated, then looped it around my neck, then reached down and grabbed a couple of first aid kits and a portable radio. If this compound was like any of the others I'd seen, they'd be suspicious of outsiders and desperate for supplies. Chances were good I'd need to buy my way in.

I could hear the kid from Abel babbling over the radio, begging me to get out, and I figured there wasn't time to grab more. I wrenched the door open, swallowed the knot of fear in my throat, and jumped. Fortunately my chute opened; the yank wasn't pleasant, but at least I knew I had a chance to survive.

The trees rushed up, branches scraping my skin and tangling in the cords and fabric above me. I was only about ten feet above the forest floor, so I pulled my arms free and dropped, hitting feet-first and going into a crouch.

I pulled the bag over my shoulder and reached in, taking out the radio and turning it on, adjusting the frequency. Static. More static. Silence. Static. Then – and I'd never thought I'd be so glad to hear someone's voice – the kid from Abel. I was less glad to hear the news that I'd dropped smack in the middle of a nest of zombies.

Looking around, peering through the trees, I turned until I could make out the tower that the kid – Sam – was talking about. Didn't seem to be more than a few miles. The terrain was uneven, but I could make it in less than an hour without any trouble.

I heard a gurgling moan behind me and cut my time estimate in half as I took off at a run.


	2. Earning Your Keep

**Earning Your Keep**

I could also hear the kid – Sam, I think he'd said – kind of rambling, though in fairness, it was in a fairly helpful way. Apparently he had some equipment and he could see me through the trees. Or maybe he was tracking some signal I was giving off, pinging me somehow. That was definitely a less-pleasant thought; I'd read _1984_, after all, and being watched all the time just doesn't end well.

Of course I didn't have the slightest clue where the damn saw mill was, but I slowed a bit and looked around, and sure enough, just like he said, there was a huge sign off to my left, bright red. I sped up again, heading in that direction.

_Yes, Sam, I can hear you just fine; there's no point in shouting._ Given that I didn't have a microphone or any way of transmitting, I couldn't exactly tell him that. Wasn't even any reason to waste my breath on it. But was he really that green? It was like it was his first day on the job or something.

There certainly wasn't reason for him to sound so… excited. Not like we'd even met. Was Abel that small, that they got _excited_ about a new person?

Another voice came over the radio; naturally, the medic wanted medical supplies. Big surprise there. I already had some, but then, if they were tracking me, they'd know whether or not I went into the hospital like they'd asked me to.

And then Sam tried to talk her out of it. _Twice._ I don't really understand why…

Not that it worked; I think he actually made the situation worse, because she dug her heels in and said if I didn't bring anything back from the hospital they might not let me in when I got there. Abel Township, the last hope for humanity.

Humanity is screwed.


	3. Tact

**Tact**

Sam's actually kind of awful at the whole "encouragement" gig. Maybe I should be grateful that it's my arm and not my leg, but right now, while I'm going out of my way through zombie territory to pick up supplies for people I don't know, _gratitude_ isn't really what I'm feeling.

Has this kid been living under a rock? I'm shaking my head as I keep up a steady jog, my senses alert for any unexpected movement, but everything is still. Everyone knows you don't get close to a runner, not even if you're partners. Maybe especially if you're partners, because if you're out with someone and they get bit, you're the one who has to make sure they don't return.

Kid, your attempt at being cheerful is just sad. And no, you're apparently _not_ right about a moderate pace being safe, given that you _just_ mentioned Five – smart, fast, 'amazing' Five – who is no longer with us.

But I do appreciate the tips about where the packs are. Guess I'll have to thank him when I get there, rather than knocking him upside the head.

Or not. Is he sending me in here to keep me safe, or to pick up… hm. Everything else in this office looks kind of dull – 'medical beige,' I tend to think of it – but there's this thin silver file case with a sleek silicone-coated handle. It's locked, but I could probably pry it open and see what's inside if I had something I could wedge in there. But the crunch of footsteps on broken glass makes me think maybe that's not the best idea. So I just grab the briefcase and head for the door.

Except there's a zombie there. And she's just _looking_ at me.

I think that's what I hate the most – when they act human. I mean, we tell ourselves that they're not. That they're not even alive, not really. They're not even animals.

But what if we're wrong?


	4. The McGuffin

**The McGuffin**

As the zombie in front of me does not seem particularly interested in having a lingering discussion on the nature of her new physiology, I weigh my options quickly. It doesn't look like there are any others behind her. I could probably make a break for the hallway. But it doesn't take much to get infected, just a scratch and a bit of mucus, from what I hear. And based on what I've seen from the folks at Abel, they aren't the sort to give me a comfortable bed while they see whether I heal or get sick. No, I'd be more likely to earn a bullet for my troubles. Can't be too careful these days, after all.

But I'm on the ground floor, so instead, I swing the file case around with my good arm and send it flying through the window, then take a running start and leap through after it. My feet hit on good, soft, once-landscaped ground, but when I roll forward I scrape on concrete. Not much, but another reason to keep moving. I get up and look around for my shiny silver box, which is just ahead on the asphalt of the parking lot.

Of course, there are now several dozen zombies looking my direction as well.

Cursing, I dash for the file case, crouch to grab it, tuck it under my good arm and set off at a dead run. I'd rather pace myself, but at the moment all I can think of is putting as much distance as possible between me and that swarm. Still, even though cutting across the grounds looks like it'd be a bit more direct, I head for the road. The paved surface will make it easier to see any holes or loose stones that could send me for a tumble, which right now would probably mean death.

The growling and groaning gets fainter behind me. It's tempting to look back, but I focus on my stride and the ground ahead of me. I do ease up somewhat, though. I think I can see Abel's fence up ahead, but I've still got a ways to go, and I may need to do a bit of evasive maneuvering yet.

There's Sam again. It's actually kind of nice to hear a familiar voice. Or maybe I'm just glad to hear _any_ voice that isn't moaning hungrily.

Apparently they've got security cameras positioned up along the fence. Might even be some on the road here… I try to avoid thinking about that, though. It's creepy.

And Doctor Max wants me to protect this Very Special Silver Case with my life. And _of course_ she's super-dodgy about why I should or what it is. Yeah, go ahead, try to distract me by scaring me. Like I'm gonna – aw, _hell._


	5. The Difference

**Clip 5 – The Difference Between Shamblers and Sprinters**

[AN: Wee bit of cussing here. My version of Five is _not_ happy with Dr. Myers.]

* * *

Sam, we really need to work on your idea of 'encouragement.' I mean seriously. Of course, I've got adrenaline surging through me and I'm running all-out, so I dunno, maybe you're actually very good at your job. I'm probably not thinking all that clearly at the moment.

A **burst of speed?** What the hell do you think I've _been_ doing, Doc, taking a stroll in the fucking park?

But there isn't any purpose in swearing, or in doing anything other than lengthening my stride, making sure my form is good, staying aware of my surroundings, and focusing on my breathing. My shoes pound the pavement, I'm cresting an incline and I can see Abel ahead.

And then Sam mentions the uniform – and I remember that the zom who cornered me back in Robinson Hospital wasn't wearing scrubs like the others. And I can't help it.

I look back.

Alice must've been quite pretty. She's actually still not too bad. You know. For a zombie, and all. Her skin is pasty, of course, her lips are brutally chapped and grey, and her long hair is only partly in the ponytail she probably pulled it into every day. She's pretty banged-up, with cuts, scratches and bites all up and down her arms and legs. But she's got the slender limbs of a strong runner, and she has this cute little upturned nose with a smattering of freckles that stand out even more against her pallor than they would have when she was alive. It's the eyes that are the worst, though, the way they turn to look at you even though they don't seem to see you. That vacant stare… it's like they're looking _through_ you instead of _at_ you.

She's closing on me, and as I look forward again, I stumble, which of course doesn't help me feel any better. I find myself wondering if she's slowed at all since she turned… or if somehow it made her even faster. I don't think I care to find out.

If they're sending out reinforcements I can't be more than a few hundred yards away. I don't believe in God, not anymore, but I'm praying anyhow, my arms pumping, my legs stretching, my feet flying.

I can see the gates.

And I can still hear Alice gaining on me.


	6. Welcome to Abel

**Clip 6 – Welcome to Abel**

* * *

I love guns. Really, I don't think I've ever been filled with such joy as I was at the clatter of gunfire that greeted me as I broke the last two hundred yards. It's better than Christmas – maybe even better than sex. I'm not sure on that last one and now's not the time to stop and ponder.

With Alice behind me, I know what's going to happen – we all do – and _Sam, I'm sorry. _

Dr. Myers is spewing out useless platitudes that I don't even think are true and **I hate her**. I hate her so much. "She wouldn't have wanted to live like this?" Well, no, maybe not, but I'd bet my last goddamn Twinkie she wouldn't have wanted to **die **like this either!

I hear a sort of cough behind me and the footsteps shuffle and there's a heavy tumbling thud and I know she's down. Sam's voice is heavy and I don't even know him but I feel guilty about ragging on him the whole way here, even though he couldn't hear it.

And – wow – maybe they _do _all get excited about a new arrival. It looks like the entire village is there, crowded around the gates. They're all talking at once, but I close my eyes, breathing hard, and rest my hands on my thighs. All I really want to hear is the sound of the gates closing with me finally inside them.

I hear a familiar voice, and I look up. It's Sam. He's older than I'd originally thought, maybe in his early twenties or so. It's odd; everyone else I've seen in the past few weeks has kind of … weathered. Hardened, maybe, would be a better term. But there's an openness to this – well, I guess I can't call him a kid, now – I haven't seen anything like it in I don't know how long. Maybe months, though it feels even longer than that.

He puts a hand on my shoulder, trying to be cheerful again. It's just about the saddest thing I've seen, worse than Alice's empty eyes. But if he can believe that fluff that Myers was spouting, maybe he'll be all right. So I keep my suspicions to myself, I force a smile, and I let him lead me away from the crowd.

* * *

_Fin! Hope you enjoyed. :D_


End file.
